


Crystal Edges and Jagged Cuts

by Girleverafter



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Broken Promises, M/M, Panic Attack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-01
Updated: 2013-01-01
Packaged: 2017-11-23 07:19:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/619516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Girleverafter/pseuds/Girleverafter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's the anniversary of his mom's death, and Stiles is waiting for Derek to come home so they can meet up with the Sheriff, but Derek is a no show.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Crystal Edges and Jagged Cuts

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hayesgeneration](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hayesgeneration/gifts).



> This is meant as a prequel to Cecil’s (hayesgeneration) excellent Sterek ficlet 'Not Sorry (Not Really)', because I desperately wanted to know why Stiles was so angry at Derek. And since Hayes refused my nagging, I wrote my own thing 8D

The coffee is hot, and Stiles gently sips it, careful not to burn lips or tongue. He’s trying to stay calm, but the hope that the warm drink would somehow ease him up is quickly fading, and he huffs, his left leg jumping beneath the table top. Placing the mug on back on the table, he eyes the cheap plastic clock on the wall. 4:43 pm. That can’t be right. Frowning he pulls his phone from his pocket and checks the time. 4:44 pm. _Damnit_. He slides his finger across the screen, punches in the code and opens the messages. No red notifications. Nothing. He takes a deep breath and tries to swallow back the growing lump in his throat.

**To: The Grinch**  
 _Where r you? I thought you’d be home by now_

There’s a sense of unease in his chest; a faint warning sign that something bigger is creeping up on him. Stiles pushes away from the table, getting out of the chair that suddenly feels too warm. He starts pacing back and forth, trying to get rid of some of the restless energy that’s building inside him, like a coil being wound slowly tighter.

He almost drops the phone as it vibrates in his clutched hand, and the coil seem to stop winding. He doesn’t even look at the screen before answering.

“Yeah! Where the hell are you?”

_“Stiles…”_

“Oh, dad, hi. Sorry I thought you were Derek” he breathes out hard, rubbing a hand over his face.

 _“You sound… Are you ok?”_ he still hasn't figured out a way to not feel guilty for making his dad worry so much. Maybe one day he'll manage it.

“Uh, yeah, I’m fine. Derek’s late. Sorry” but not today.

_“Ok… Listen, I’m going there now, need me to pick you up on the way?”_

“Uhm, no, it’s- I’m sure he’s on his way. I’ll meet you there, ok?” Maybe Derek is even trying to call him right now?

_“Ok, son. You two still up for dinner after…”_

“Yeah, dad. Of course. Listen, I’m gonna hang up, get ready, ok? We’ll be there in 20 minutes”

 _“I’ll see you there”_ Hanging up, Stiles eyes the inbox in a vague hope that a text or an incoming call has managed to avoid his notice. But there’s still nothing.

The internal coil start winding faster.

He tries calling, for the third time within half an hour. Normally he’d feel obnoxiously clingy, but not today. Not this day.

_“Derek Hale. You know what to do”_

_“Hi! It’s me… **again**! Where the fuck are you? Derek, you… you promised me. I really hope you’ve just put your phone on vibrate yet again, and that you’re right outside, because…because… This shit is **not** cool, man. You promised! This- you know what day it is! You promised you’d be there with me! Just- Just get here, ok?”_

Stiles runs his fingers through his hair and then over his eyes, standing still for a second, simply breathing, trying to push back the weird feeling of abandonment. He should get going if he wants to get to the cemetery in time, but if he leaves now he might just miss Derek coming home.

Ok, he can do this. He’s been going alone, for years now. He can do it again.

Except he really can’t. He never went alone. It was always Scott dropping by unannounced to keep him company, or his dad picking him up. This would be the first year that Stiles is accompanied by his boyfriend. And Derek had promised to be there for him. Derek, more than anyone, understands why Stiles can’t stand being alone on this day. So when Stiles asked him to come with him on the anniversary of his mother’s death, Derek had kissed his eyelids and murmured a promise that sounded so heartfelt, so sincere.

But right now that promise is beginning to sound an awful lot like a lie.

Stiles tries to tell himself that maybe Derek forgot. But he knows better. Stiles has been getting increasingly more quiet over the last couple of days, and Derek has been so careful not to push him too much, hugging him more and just being extra attentive. Stiles knows Derek hasn’t forgotten today.

Stiles really, really wants to call again. Maybe this time he’ll pick up.

He settles on getting ready instead, grabbing his shoes. His jacket is already slung over the back of the chair, and the keys and wallet is waiting on the table. He sits down ungracefully, almost loosing his balance as he leans over to tie the shoe laces. The movement makes the coil wind a few more times as his treacherous brain, which is never satisfied with just focussing on the task at hand, starts coming up with all the terrible explanations to why Derek isn’t answering his damn phone. His imagination paints every possibility dark red and glaring; Dead eyes staring into nothing; gaping wounds; consuming poisons, and blinding electrical currents flash behind Stiles’ eyelids and he gasps for breath, straining hard to focus on just tying one damn shoe.

The lump in his throat feels like it’ll start choking him any second now.

His hands are shaking so badly, and he curses loudly. Giving up, Stiles just tugs the laces into his shoes with angry huffs and jumps to his feet. He sways violently for a sickening moment and lashes out to grab at the table to get his balance, but instead he only manages to knock the mug of coffee down. The liquid is still so very, very hot and as it soaks into the thighs of his jeans, he stumbles back, hissing in pain. Stiles has a second of hating his lack of grace as he stumbles over his own feet, falling on his ass, and then he’s just lying there on the floor of his kitchen, wet pants cooling rapidly and his shoulder blades and elbows hurting with the impact.

The coil won’t wind up any further, and he whimpers as his throat starts to close up. It’s almost like balancing on the edge of a cliff knowing that you’ll fall in a second, and no matter how much you flail you won’t fall back onto solid and safe ground.

“Not now-” is all he manages to say before the the coil unwinds in a sickening rush  and his vision goes white around the edges. His lungs are burning, but it’s like every single muscle in his body is tensing up, refusing to let him breath in, and all he can do is gasp.

He manages to roll over on his side, pulling his legs up and covering his head with his arms, trying to block out the light from the windows. Breath seems like an almost impossible task, and he’s wheezing hard, struggling to take in enough air under the phantom weight pressing down on him.

Everyone is dying around Stiles. Derek would never stay away. He promised he’d be there, so he must be dead. Everyone dies. Everyone. He hasn’t talked to Scott for days. Scott might be dead already, or dying right now while Stiles is a weak, useless sack of bones, sprawled on the fucking floor. Derek is dead. His mom is dead. His dad had sounded so sad on the phone. What if he’s so distracted he has an accident on the way to the cemetery? Everyone dies. Everyone leaves, and Stiles can’t do anything. Stiles is the most useless person in the world. He’s so fucking weak, so useless, and he can’t save Derek who’d never leave him like this. Everyone is dying, but Stiles isn’t, he can’t even do that.

Even when it’s like every fibre of his being is screaming at him to just die already.

Someone is banging on the door, but right now the distance to the door might as well have been the distance from the Earth to the Moon, and Stiles can’t even open his eyes, let alone move. The front door is slammed open, the handle banging against the wall, and someone is running to his side.

“Stiles!” His dad. Not Derek then. But he’s supposed to be visiting the grave. So why is he here?

“It’s ok son, I got you” His dad is slowly prying Stiles’ arms away from his head, lifting him up to cradle him in his arms. Stiles hears someone whimpering far away. Maybe it’s him? His dad is stroking his hair, murmuring, asking questions. Where’s Derek? How long has he been lying here? What happened?

Stiles just shakes and fights to regain control of his body.

It could be hours, or maybe mere minutes, but finally he is sitting up, head between his knees, taking the last few deep breaths to calm himself down. His dad is rubbing his back in slow circles, his head tilted and a concerned frown on his face.

“Dad, why… why are you here? Shouldn’t you be with mom?” He hates how shaky his voice sounds and he avoids looking up, settling on staring at the scratches in the floor.

“You were late. I figured the jeep might’ve been to blame, so I came to get you” That means that he’s been out of it for at least fifteen minutes, maybe. When had he started on the shoes? Stiles can’t remember.

“I’m guessing Derek was a no-show?”

“Yeah, he’s not answering my texts or my calls. I just… Everything got a little crazy, for a second I thought- I guess…” His voice trails off. He doesn’t want to tell his dad about his fears. He might think they’re just a bi-product of his anxiety, and Stiles can’t tell him how real those scenarios might be. He can’t tell his father all of this. Not yet.

“I think we should cancel the dinner plans. You want me to stay here and wait with you? I am the sheriff y’know, so I can actually get someone to cover for me” His dad is slowly leaning back, his hand still lingering on Stiles' shoulder.

“No, dad. It’s ok, I’m- I’m good now. I can manage” he sits up straighter, trying to emphasize his statement.

“You sure? I can call Scott, ask him to come over?” For a second Stiles almost agrees. Some part of him desperately wants to see Scott, to know that he’s safe. He doesn’t want to bother him with his stupid fears though.

“No, that’s alright. I’ll be fine dad. Derek’ll be home soon, I’m sure. I’m ok. It’s ok. It’s ok” Maybe if he repeats himself enough, it’ll be true. He stands up shakily, but determined, because it _will_ be ok.

“Ok. You’re absolutely sure?”

“Yup. I’m ok, dad. I’m ok”

—————

Derek doesn’t return until 3 am. Stiles can’t find the words to explain how much he’s not ok with that.

**Author's Note:**

> My personal theory here is, that even IF Derek promised Stiles, in the end he couldn't handle it. For one reason or another, he chickened out and the longer he stayes away, the more guilty he feels, making him stay away even longer. Perhaps, at first, he just hesitatet for an hour or two, and then it just snowballed from there.
> 
> Hopefully this fits nicely with what Cecil wrote.
> 
> I apollogize to anyone struggling with panic attacks. I've only ever experienced it once, years ago and I must admit I blocked out the memory of most of it. I tried my best not to glorify it, because it's not something funny, or something to be taken lightly.


End file.
